The Harem is a collective of fans of the long-overlooked female supporting characters of The X Files.

We have a community on LiveJournal for topical discussion. That's our primary meeting point. We also have a fairly comprehensive fiction archive. However, it is not up to date. Fiction posted since the end of the series may not be present or catalogued. The creator of the Harem, Deslea, is not active in X Files fandom anymore, but still hosts the database and will work with volunteers to get newer stories up on request.

EMAIL: bugs1231@my-deja.com
URL: http://underthewing.com/bugs
RATING: R, language, violence
CLASSIFICATION: S, A
CONTENT WARNING: Character death: This is one of those odd little stories authors seem compelled to write occasionally.
SPOILERS: 'Existence'
SUMMARY: Revenge is a bitter pill.
ARCHIVE: You want it, take it, it's yours.
THANKS: To Ambress and Branwell, for their usual help. And to Deslea for inspiring the tale.

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You stare down at the sweating ox. The sheen on his thick skin reflects the wan light, flickering in time to his labored breathing. His great muscles strain to resist your torture, but he can't fight his own blood's betrayal.

"What did he say?" you demand.

The beast gasps, "Fuck you."

A step closer will be safe. The Palm Pilot's steel case is still cool in your white grasp.

"Tell me."

He falls, rolling onto his back. You caught him, unguarded, coming from the shower. At first he'd dropped his hands to cover his genitals. Now he doesn't care and you can let your gaze wander over his thick, blunt-edged form. It shakes and ripples with agony and you're glad. The truth is in there.

"Do you want to die?" you ask.

Through blue lips, he says, "You think he said, 'Tell Marita I love her'? He didn't."

A fine thumbnail manipulates the cursor...he roars, suddenly, and you can feel the heat from his tortured lungs.

He eventually calms, and his heaving respiration is the only sound in the room. Saliva trickles from the corner of his mouth.

"Walter, what were his last words?"

He gasps, gathering strength. "Bullshit, as usual. About how we were on the wrong track. How Mulder must die. B.S. He was going to kill Mulder. I had to stop him."

You've guessed right. Mulder had the good soldier do his dirty work for him. "How did it happen?"

He manages to push himself to kneeling, supported by quivering biceps. The hair across his back is matted with perspiration. He is nothing more than an animal. Alex had been so much more. This creature knows the truth. You can tell. But like any dog, he must be kicked until he relents.

Belligerent even at the abyss' edge: "He tried to kill Mulder. I shot him. You gonna to kill me for self-defense?" He collapses from his effort. You step back. Wouldn't do for any body fluids to stain your pumps. Over six hundred dollars, after all.

"He wanted to help you. You killed him to stop him from getting the rewards he deserves."

He gurgles a laugh. "Fuck, Marita. What dope do you smoke? What reward? The choice of being assassinated by you or my own government?"

Rolling onto his side, he makes eye contact and holds it. "Why are you here?" Now his gaze checks you over. "Your pimps are dead. What do you care? Duty? Loyalty? To the most unloyal men who ever lived?"

For that, he gets another level, but his now limp body hardly reacts.

"You don't understand."

"I guess not." His head comes to rest on the darkened carpet. "Love makes women do crazy things."

Repeat, "You don't understand," then, "Where's the body?"

"Going to give him a funeral with full honors, are you?"

He's near death. His words were hardly a whisper. You must hurry. "Where."

"Where...belongs. Rotting at bottom...dumpster...parking garage. Make it quick. Picked up...morning."

You contemplate the gray screen, weighing your options.

He mutters on, "Garbage. Garbage--"

You're merciful, and it's as painless as it can be.

*

The streets are nearly empty. You drive through waves of refracted streetlights, slipping along a silent early morn. Finally, you pull over, turn off the car engine and lean back, flipping down the visor to reveal the mirror.

"Why are we doing this?" you ask.

You are as confused as that human Skinner was. I wash through your body, and your eyelids droop shut. I give energy, take it, fuel hate and love. You need no master. I saturate you with intent and purpose. You carry me towards our goals. You are me and I am you.

Dawn rises. Your eyes open, and blink against the burn.

An enemy is dead and you live. That's all you need to know. We'll retrieve the remains of our Other, and work will continue.

END

Author's Notes: All those drifting loose plot threads of the past two seasons annoy me. One was Marita's oil possession, which just went away. Or did it? *cackling maniacal laughter* ...uh, okay, I'll stop this now.

If you found this of interest, let me know: bugs1231@my-deja.com
More stable fics can be found at: http://underthewing.com/bugs

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